A Grant of Arms

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Romulus charged with his fleeing men, downhill, away from Highlandia, infuriated. He was shocked at his defeat. He had never lost a battle before, and he could not reconcile it. He had overreached. He should have stuck to his original plan to find a MacGil, cross the Canyon, and attack with his full army; instead, he went for the quick and hasty kill. He had become too emboldened, too confident. He had made the mistake of an amateur commander, and he hated himself for it.

Romulus had experienced multiple failures. His initial plot had been to send an assassin to kill Andronicus in the night, and somehow that had failed. His second plot had been to rally his men at dawn, to use his newfound momentum to come upon Andronicus unaware, and to take a quick stab at murdering him. He knew he’d be outnumbered, but he thought, if only he could kill him quickly, then it wouldn’t matter; all the remaining Empire men would of course rally under his command at once.

In retrospect, it was a hasty and rash decision, and he should have waited. He should have lowered the Shield first, and then attacked in force. There were no shortcuts to victory.

Romulus kept replaying in his mind how close he had come, and that was what upset him most. He’d almost had Andronicus and surely would have killed him if it had not been for Thornicus. He had not expected Thornicus to be there, by Andronicus’ side, and had not expected such a lethal adversary. Andronicus would be dead right now if it weren’t for him. When all this settled down, Romulus vowed to kill Thor himself. The idea of that cheered him up: he would kill father and son together. At least he had escaped, unlike many of his men.

Now he rode towards his second objective. On the ride across the Ring, Romulus had slaughtered and tortured many soldiers along the way, for the fun of it. He had also interrogated them, and had learned of the MacGil who had been captured by Andronicus: Luanda. MacGil’s firstborn daughter. She would do perfectly.

Romulus rode now to where the soldiers had told him she would be, on the outskirts of the camp. He was ready to execute his backup plan. He rode hard, and finally reached it; he went to the stocks and found the lone girl bound to a post, her hair shaved off. That was her: Luanda, half-dressed, bruised and beaten, a bloody mess. She was tied to the post, barely conscious, and Romulus did not even slow his horse as he galloped right towards her.

He raised his great axe high and chopped off her ropes, then with his other hand he reached down and grabbed her roughly by the shirt, and in one motion hoisted her onto the front of his horse.

Luanda, panic-stricken, screamed, struggling to get away.

But Romulus did not give her the chance. He reached over with his huge arm and wrapped it entirely around her body, firmly, squeezing her tightly against him. The feel of her in his arms felt good. If he did not need her to bring across the bridge, he might have his way with her now, then kill her on the spot. But he needed her to lower the Shield, and there was little time to waste.

Romulus kicked his horse and rode twice as fast, forking away from his men, taking the lone road that headed to the Canyon. When he was done with her, he could always kill her then, just for fun.

Romulus rode with a smile, and the more Luanda screamed, fighting and protesting, the more he smiled. He had his prize. Soon they would be at the bridge, over the crossing.

Finally, the shield would be lowered. His army would invade. And the Ring would be his for all time.